


My Heart ran so to thee

by extasiswings



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, F/F, First Kiss, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Timeless Fanfic Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 03:23:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13379079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extasiswings/pseuds/extasiswings
Summary: For the January Prompt: There's just one thing Lucy wants for her birthday...They aren’t even in 1858 for a full day before it begins wearing on her. Or rather, before Wyatt and Flynn and their constant bickering begin wearing on her. And if there’s one thing Lucy wants for her birthday, Rittenhouse or no Rittenhouse—“We’re not following that plan!”“Oh, and I suppose you have a better one?”—it’s some peace and quiet.





	My Heart ran so to thee

They leave again on her birthday.

It’s not a big deal—Lucy hadn’t told anyone, not wanting to spend her first after Amy doing anything but sitting on the couch alone with a bottle of wine and maybe a book, so chasing after Rittenhouse isn’t interfering with important plans. If it irks her anyway it’s only because she’s sure her mother knows exactly what day it is.

(Chasing after Rittenhouse has become a full-time job—why should her birthday be off-limits?)

Except, they aren’t even in 1858 for a full day before it begins wearing on Lucy. Or rather, before Wyatt and Flynn and their constant bickering begin wearing on her. And if there’s one thing Lucy wants for her birthday, Rittenhouse or no Rittenhouse—

“We’re not following that plan!”

“Oh, and I suppose you have a better one?”

—it’s some peace and quiet. 

Wyatt and Flynn look up when Lucy’s chair scrapes as she rises, as does Rufus who had been attempting to mediate between the other two with little success. 

“I’m going for a walk,” she says, and holds up a hand the second Wyatt opens his mouth to argue. “ _Alone._ ”

“It’s not safe—” Flynn starts, but Lucy narrows her eyes at him as well. 

“We’re in Amherst, Massachusetts. Not exactly a hotbed of criminal activity,” she replies. “And if Rittenhouse wanted to grab me, they’ve had plenty of other chances over the past few months. Me going out for an hour is hardly going to tip the scale for them.”

None of the men look happy— _The first thing they’ve agreed on in months_ , Lucy grumbles internally—but they also don’t stop her when she sweeps past them and out the door. 

Once outside, it’s easier to breathe, and she takes a moment to appreciate the way the tightness in her chest loosens. 

(It’s not that she doesn’t like the three men—Rufus is a great friend and sometimes she thinks she might even like Wyatt and Flynn too much—but she’s never been interested in being fought over and the constant arguing is grating at best)

Being on her own then, is a relief. 

Lucy doesn’t pay much attention when she walks, enjoying the sun on her face and the early spring air. And once she picks a direction, she just...keeps walking. If she wanted to turn around, she could—or at least, that’s what she tells herself when the scenery changes around her and she starts to wonder if, just maybe, she might be a little lost. 

“Can I help you, miss?” 

Lucy jumps, turns to face the voice, and— _Oh._

“Miss?” The severity of the woman’s tone is reflected in her face, clearly unhappy to have found herself with strange company, and Lucy wants to apologize but can’t quite find her voice because that...is Emily Dickinson.

“I’m so sorry,” she manages finally. “I wasn’t paying attention; I didn’t realize I’d stumbled onto private property.”

“You weren’t...trying to visit the estate?” Emily asks, surprise coloring her initial wariness. “Most people I find wandering out here started off at the main house before deciding the public areas weren’t enough for them. You would hardly be the first.”

“No!” Lucy replies. “No, honestly, I was just out walking. I didn’t mean to disturb anyone. In fact, I’ll go right now.”

Something flickers across Emily’s face, and as Lucy turns to go, the other woman stops her.

“Wait.”

Lucy stops.

“Why were you out walking alone?”

“I like being alone,” Lucy says. “And I needed to clear my head. This seemed like the best way to do that.”

Emily nods once, her teeth catching her lower lip as she considers something. Then she asks, “Would you—would you like to see the garden perhaps? I find that when I need to sort through my own thoughts, it can be rather a soothing place.”

Lucy tries not to let her surprise at the offer show on her face. Emily Dickinson is known for being a recluse, although technically her more extreme tendencies shouldn’t start until a few years from their current date. It’s not an offer Lucy ever would have expected to get regardless, but certainly not one she’s going to turn down.

“I would like that very much,” Lucy agrees. “I’m Lucy, by the way. Lucy Preston.”

(And introducing herself to historical figures will never stop being strange)

“Emily. Emily Dickinson,” the other woman acknowledges, and Lucy deliberately does not say _I know._

(She likes to think she’s gotten better about the fangirling though)

The pair is quiet as they start off down the path again—Emily not offering anything up and Lucy not wanting to break their fragile peace. When they reach the small garden enclosure, full of slowly blooming buds and herbs, Emily steps away to put some distance between them. 

“It’s a lovely garden,” Lucy says. Emily hums a quiet agreement. 

“It’s the one place in this estate I can truly call my own,” she replies. Bending down to examine one of the more tightly closed buds, she adds, “You’re welcome to speak to them. I find plants make quite agreeable confidantes.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Lucy asks before she can stop herself. “You don’t even know me.”

Emily presses her lips together and straightens up. “Have you lost someone recently, Miss Preston?”

“I—yes.” Her tongue trips over the word, startled and uncertain, but Emily merely nods once more.

“I thought so,” she says. “It hangs around you like a cloak, heavy and dark, and I...am not unfamiliar with loss myself. It plagues me constantly. And when I saw it in you, I could not help but think that perhaps...perhaps it is not always so good to be alone with that particular companion. Which is why I am, as you put it, being nice.”

_Oh._

There’s a small bench in the corner, and when Emily sits, Lucy follows.

“My sister,” she offers after a moment. “That’s who I lost. One minute she was there and the next...I think about her every day.”

It’s the truth. And it isn’t. But there isn’t a simple way to explain _I went back in time and it erased her from existence and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for getting in that machine._

“And my mother,” Lucy adds, because that’s the other piece of this mess that she can’t shake. In some ways, it’s the worst piece because Amy was her daughter just as Lucy was, but Carol doesn’t care that Amy’s been erased. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t remember her, but there’s a sinking in Lucy’s stomach that tells her Carol wouldn’t care even if she _could_ remember Amy.

“It isn’t that she’s _gone_ —I could see her if I wanted to—but I don’t recognize her. She’s changed too much.”

“That may be the worst kind of loss,” Emily muses. “Thinking you know someone, thinking you love them, only to be left wondering if the person you loved ever really existed at all when they change.”

_Susan Gilbert_ , Lucy thinks as she considers the pain that flicker’s across Emily’s face, the way her eyes go unfocused as she stares at the garden gate that leads out to the path—the path towards the house where Austin and Susan Dickinson née Gilbert live. And for all that Lucy manages loss every day—her own, Wyatt’s, Flynn’s—her heart breaks all over again for the woman in front of her.

Their losses were at least the result of someone being taken from them. She can’t imagine what it must be like to have someone choose to leave you and then still have to face them every day, no chance for separation, no opportunity to forget and move on. 

_Sue...I have always hoped to know if you had no dear fancy, illumining all your life, no one of whom you murmured in the faithful ear of night—and at whose side in fancy, you walked the livelong day…_

“I’m sorry,” Lucy says, and Emily blinks and looks back to her, the pain smoothing away behind a mask of indifference. 

“For what?”

“For _your_ loss.” _For her._ “I’m so sorry.”

For a woman known for her words, Emily doesn’t seem to have any in response to that. Silence falls and Lucy isn’t overly-inclined to break it, instead allowing herself to take in the garden, the peace that she’d set out to find. When Emily speaks again, several minutes later, it’s startling in the quiet.

“Do you think you’ll ever be married, Miss Preston?”

Lucy considers that—considers Noah, and their life together that she never knew, considers the ring she’d thrown into a drawer not wanting the reminder, considers Wyatt and Flynn and how _much_ they’d loved their wives...and how much they’d been destroyed by their loss. Could she love someone enough for that? Maybe. Would she want to?

“No,” she replies. “No, I don’t think I will.”

“And does that bother you?”

“Not at all.”

Emily tips her head as she looks out over the garden before remarking, “I don’t fear death, you know. I don’t even truly fear loss.”

“Then what do you fear?” Lucy asks, even as she thinks she might know the answer. 

“Being forgotten,” Emily says. “Being caged. Having my own self stripped away and molded by someone else until I no longer know who I am. Becoming...meaningless. Worthless. I fear that I already am.”

“You aren’t.”

“No?”

“No,” Lucy insists, and while she shouldn’t say how she knows that, while she can’t say _You’re one of the foremost poets of your time_ , she can say a little. 

“Miss Dickinson— _Emily_ —” Lucy touches Emily’s arm and pulls the woman’s focus back to her. “—you could never be worthless. You are...singular. Extraordinary. You could never be anything less than exceptional.”

Emily’s brow furrows. “You hardly know me.”

“I know enough.”

_I know more than enough._

Emily’s eyes search hers for a moment, a question in her gaze. In answer, Lucy slips her hand down to cover the other woman’s. No expectation, just connection. Comfort.

She doesn’t pull away when Emily sways forward and kisses her. 

At first, it’s only the barest hint of pressure, but it deepens when Lucy curves her free hand behind Emily’s neck. For something so soft, there’s an edge of pure longing in the kiss that threatens to undo her, and if Lucy hadn’t already been returning the kiss, that certainly would have made her start. 

How long it lasts, she can’t say. It’s a moment suspended in time—racing pulses and stolen breaths bleeding together as the other sounds of the outdoors fade away—poetry in a kiss. But when it ends, the world comes rushing back in all-too-defined focus.

“Thank you,” Emily says quietly. 

Lucy shakes her head. “I wanted to,” she admits, but the other woman is already withdrawing, both physically pulling away and tucking her emotions back where they can be more easily managed. 

“It’ll be getting dark soon. If you’re walking back to town, you should be on your way.”

Lucy smooths down her skirts and stands up from the bench, knowing how to take a hint. But she doesn’t leave immediately.

“Will you remember what I said?” She asks.

“About me being singular?” A smile graces Emily’s lips as she tips her face up to the sun, eyes closed. “Yes. I rather believe I will.”

_Good._

As Lucy steps out the garden gate and starts off back up the path, she touches her lips with two fingers. She may have gone out looking for peace and quiet, but she’d found so much more than that. 

“Lucy!” 

Lucy stops in her tracks and looks back over her shoulder to see Emily standing by the gate.

“For what it’s worth,” she says, “I find you to be most exceptional as well.”

And then, she’s gone, so quickly that Lucy half-wonders if she’d imagined it. 

_So much more…_

**Author's Note:**

> I had grand plans of starting off the new year right with my own contribution to Let Lucy Preston Kiss A Lady 2k18. Except then, I asked qqueenofhades who she would want Lucy to kiss of all potential queer historical ladies and she said Emily Dickinson and well...then it just got angsty and existential. 
> 
> For the record, yes, Emily Dickinson was almost certainly some variety of queer. It is highly likely she was in love with Susan Gilbert, a close friend of hers for many years who ended up marrying Emily's brother Austin Dickinson. The marriage caused a rift in their relationship that it never recovered from (which makes a lot of sense if they were in love). The italicized line Lucy thinks about before she tells Emily she's sorry for her loss is a quote from one of Emily's letters to Susan.


End file.
